


Burn like coal and dry like tears

by LiviKate



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: A little angst, Coming of Age, Crack, Families of Choice, Father Figures, Friendship, M/M, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Unconventional Families, Victor Nikiforov is Extra, Warning for off-screen non-con touching
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-23
Updated: 2017-11-23
Packaged: 2018-11-18 00:50:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 18,104
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11280291
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LiviKate/pseuds/LiviKate
Summary: “Where is your father today?” one of the reports asked. Yurio’s eyes were cold and dead when he answered.“How would I know? I haven’t seen him in eight years.” Otabek’s hand fell down his arm, presumably to wrap around his hand. “And the worst part about Viktor,” Yurio said with a choked laugh. “Is that he is exactly the same and I can’t believe I fell for it twice.”Or in which Viktor flings himself into fatherhood despite literally everyone in his life telling him it's a bad idea.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is not a new chapter of Mischievous Friends, sorry. But I had some lingering father's day feels, and I can't not write Viktor as cracky as hell, so here we go. 
> 
> This is low resolution headcanon right here, but I needed some frank Father-Son communication rn.
> 
> Title from Civil War's My Father's Father, as a late Father's Day post

“Yurio is going to be so upset,” Yuuri, the light of his life, mused, watching the younger man limp off the ice. He had taken a really bad fall and they had both winced when he’d hit the ice, sympathetically rubbing their hips.

“He’s already qualified for the Prix, he’ll be fine,” Viktor assured his husband, massaging his thigh gently where it was tossed over his lap. He adjusted the cold packs stacked around his knee dotingly. If Yurio hadn’t already placed first in Skate USA, he would’ve been more motivated to go to Skate Canada with him. But when Yuuri twisted his knee the other day on the ice, he couldn’t take any chances. All the trainers told him it was nothing to worry about, but still he parked his husband on the couch and promised him he wouldn’t need to move for the next several days. Yuuri had rolled his eyes, but he’d blushed beatifically and allowed himself to be pampered.

“We should do something to cheer him up when he gets home,” Yuuri mused. “Like bring him dinner in his apartment.”

“And then try to redecorate while we’re there! He’ll hate it! You know how much he loves yelling at us,” Viktor said with a wide grin. Yuuri rolled his eyes but laughed all the same.

“We need to find ways to bond with him that don’t involve antagonizing him.”

“Are you kidding? He loves it, it’s how we interact!” Viktor grinned, eyes closed.

“We should text him, let him know we were watching.” Yuuri reached for his phone, but Viktor grabbed his hand, holding them both tightly.

“He’s about to go into interviews, Yakov hates it when we have our phones on us during interviews,” Viktor tutted at him and started removing the ice from his knee. It had been twenty minutes, they needed to transition to heat. When Viktor returned with a heating pad, the interviews were just about to begin.

Viktor settled in too quickly, accidently bumping Yuuri’s hurt knee with his elbow. He apologized as he arranged himself back under his leg, placing it back over his lap as he eagerly watched the screen.

The first few questions were typical, about his performance, about his first place in the US and if he had any concerns about the Grand Prix. Yurio answered them all with a harsh scowl on his face, ignoring the gruff presence of Yakov at his back and Otabek Altin’s gentling hand on his shoulder. Viktor perked up when he saw his reporter friend push her microphone closer to Yurio’s face.

“It is said that Viktor Nikiforov is like a father figure to you. Did your performance suffer today because he wasn’t here?”

“Oh this will be good,” he said gleefully. “He hates it when they make everything about me,” Viktor whispered to Yuuri as they watched Yurio’s chest swell with anger. “Now he’ll have a reason to say that this is all him, he’s his own skater, and he never needed my help anyway.”

“You know that’s not true,” Yuuri said, quieting down as Yurio opened his mouth and then closed it again, probably trying to thing of something suitably acidic. “He needs you.”

“He’ll never admit it,” Viktor said with a slight smile on his face. He was so proud of the young skater. His smile slid into a frown of concern when Yurio seemed to deflate, shoulders pulling into himself.

“Viktor Nikiforov is exactly like my father,” Yuri said, shocking everyone around him, and Viktor and Yuuri on their couch in St. Petersburg. “He promised me wonderful things when I was a little kid and stupid enough to believe them. And then he got bored, with his life and with our family, and he left. He went, on a whim, to an exotic land, with an exotic knew spouse to live an exciting new life and he forgot all about me.” Yurio’s face was tired and drawn, and Viktor could see Otabek’s hand flex where it held him. “Now he pretends we’re a family and tells me that I’m being the difficult one when I say I can’t trust him. Even though he jeopardized my career, my family and my entire life because he didn’t even think about how his choice might affect me. He’s selfish, he’s self-centered, and he only cares about me when it suits him. Viktor is _exactly_ like my father, and that’s why his absence here has _nothing_ to do with my performance today.”

The reporters were stunned, and so was Viktor.

“Where is your father today?” one of the reports asked. Yurio’s eyes were cold and dead when he answered.

“How would I know? I haven’t seen him in eight years.” Otabek’s hand fell down his arm, presumably to wrap around his hand. “And the worst part about Viktor,” Yurio said with a choked laugh. “Is that he is exactly the same and I can’t believe I fell for it twice.”

Yakov stepped forward, saying that Yurio would be happy to answer more questions after he medalled at the Grand Prix, and Otabek led him away, drawing his arm over his shoulders and helping him limp to the locker rooms. It was hard to tell, but Yurio’s shoulders looked like they might’ve been shaking. Viktor thought the camera quality was deteriorating rapidly, until he blinked and realized there was water clouding his vision.

“Oh, Viktor,” Yuuri murmured sadly, brushing his hair out of his face and Viktor realized he was crying.

“I need to call him,” Viktor said, scrambling for his phone as he wiped his cheeks dry.

“I think maybe he needs a little time,” Yuuri cautioned, pulling the phone out of his clumsy fingers. Viktor had to keep blinking to keep his vision from blurring again.

“How could he think that?” he protested, and when Yuuri hesitated, he knew.

It was the truth. Everything Yurio had said was true, and Viktor had never cared enough to think about it. And the worst part was, _Yuuri_ _knew_ and hadn’t told him.

“How could you have let me do that to him?” he asked, pleaded, and his husband winced as he pulled his leg out of his lap to scoot closer to his side.

“You weren’t happy,” Yuuri reminded him. “You weren’t happy in Russia, you didn’t love skating anymore. You left, you found me,” he said, blushing beautifully. “Because you needed to. To be the best version of you again. That’s not selfish, that’s taking care of yourself.”

“It’s selfish when you have a family,” Viktor said. “I would never leave you or Makkachin. But I left him.”

“People make mistakes,” Yuuri soothed, brushing his hair back, the tips of it dragging wetly over his ears. Viktor wiped his face and found he was still crying. “You can’t fix them,” Yuuri said, pressing a kiss to his forehead. “But you can make up for them.”

 

 

Viktor waited the three days it took for Yurio to return to Russia. And he didn’t exactly wait patiently. He baked a lot, stockpiling cookies, and breads and katsudon pirozhkis, of course. Finally, Yurio snapchatted a picture of Puma, circling around his feet, welcoming him home.

“Yuuri, get in the car, we have to go!” Viktor shouted, sweeping everything off the kitchen counter with a single swipe of his arm, several buns and muffins missing the bag he was holding and rolling to the floor. Makkachin pounced on one of them, and Viktor let it go, but when Makka grabbed a raisin one, he had to get on the floor and wrestle for it.

“Stop poisoning the dog and get in the car,” Yuuri groused, standing in the doorway and wrapping coat after coat around himself. Viktor stood up, brushing lint and dog hair off of himself before grabbing up his bag of baked goods and heading for Yurio’s place.

“Look at this,” he exclaimed in the car, showing a post to the side of Yuuri’s head, even though he knew he wouldn’t look while he was driving, not while he was so unused to St. Petersburg traffic patterns. “It’s like he thinks he’s a Kardashian!” The insta post showed Yurio in a tied up tshirt and underwear, his briefs hiked up high on the side, skinny ass pushed out, showcasing the massive purple bruising swelling up under his skin of his hip. “Both his hands are in this picture, that Altin boy must’ve taken it. He’s not even seventeen, this is far too suggestive!”

“Maybe he’s being promiscuous because he’s never had a stable father figure in his life,” Yuuri grumbled. Viktor’s bottom lip jutted out and his eyes shimmered.

“Why would you say that to me?” he whined and Yuuri rolled his eyes, called him a drama queen and shoved a cookie in his mouth.

As they got to the seedier side of St. Petersburg, Viktor put his phone away and looked out the window.

“I will never understand why he lives over here,” he complained. “In that small, dingy apartment. I never liked the way that landlord looked at him when we moved him in.” Viktor’s face brightened as he had the most amazing idea. He whipped around in his seat to share it with his partner. “Yurio should live with us!”

“No,” Yuuri said immediately, though he was laughing good-naturedly. “He would hate that, and you’d treat him like a child.”

“He is a child,” Viktor stressed. “He’s only sixteen.”

“And he’s been living on his own for a year now, supporting himself, paying the bills. He doesn’t want you to come barging into his life and tell him how he should be living.”

“But then how can I prove to him that I _am_ a good father?” Viktor whined, dragging his hands down his face.

“By remembering that you’re not actually his father,” Yuuri said, quirking a brow at him saucily. “And by being there for him when he needs you, and respecting him as an independent adult. And, maybe, I don’t know, by _asking him_ what part he wants you to play in his life.” Viktor gave him a flat expression at that and Yuuri amended. “And then when he lies and says he doesn’t want to ever see you again, you must interpret, using your many years of Yurio expertise, and then texting Mila when you inevitably fail, to figure out what he really wants but would never admit.”

“Hm,” Viktor said, tapping his chin. He considered, carefully. “As my husband and the light of my life, I will consider your opinion. However, as my husband and the light of my life, I expect you to continue to love me when I ignore it completely.”

Yuuri grumbled under his breath for the rest of the trip and Viktor was relieved when they finally pulled up to Yurio’s apartment. Viktor bounded up the steps and rang the buzzer for the sweet old lady that lived below Yurio, who he knew secretly fed the teenager about once a week. That boy gets adopted anywhere he goes, Viktor mused, even in a neighborhood as rough as this one. When he explained that he and his husband wanted to surprise Yurio, she buzzed them in with the promise that they come back for tea some time.

“Hurry, Yuuri, we don’t want him to get away,” Viktor said, sprinting up the stairs, arms overflowing with baked goods.

“We’re here to see our friend, not catch a wild animal,” Yuuri complained, climbing the stairs at a reasonable, even cautious, pace.

“It’s _Yurio_ ,” he exclaimed. “He practically _is_ a wild animal!”

By the time Viktor made it to the door, Yuuri was not even halfway up the stairs, but that didn’t stop him from knocking wildly. When a shirtless Otabek Altin opened the door with a baseball hat sitting backwards on his head, Viktor screamed.

“What is it?” Yuuri called up the stairs, his steps sounding awkward. Viktor suddenly remembered strapping him into a formidable knee brace this morning, against great protest.

“He’s naked!” Viktor cried. “And sweaty!”

“What the fuck?” he heard Yurio shout from the other side of the door. He appeared over Otabek’s shoulder, having outgrown him in the last year, a scowl firmly in place. “You’re not our Indian food.”

“I’m better,” Viktor assured him, raising his large bag of sweet and savory goodies.

“Ugh, fine,” Yurio complained, sinking two fingers into the waistband of Otabek’s pants and pulling him away from the door. Viktor couldn’t help but notice the man was not wearing underwear. Unwashed heathen. “Where’s your pig husband?” Yurio asked when Viktor dumped his bag of food on his small, slanted table in what he supposed might pass for a kitchen.

“He’s coming,” Viktor asked, pawing through the food until he found the katsudon pirozhkis. He shoved them into Yurio’s hands and relished in the small, huffing smile it earned him. He took a bite.

“Not as good as grandpa’s,” he declared, but he took another bite.

“Better than yours,” Viktor claimed, and when Yurio scowled at him, he knew it was true. Yuuri appeared in the doorway, red cheeked, skin glistening, looking adorably put out.

“Oi, what’s wrong with you?” Yurio asked, eyebrows raised in alarm.

“I twisted my knee,” Yuuri said, brows creasing in confusion. “You knew that.”

“I didn’t know it was serious!” Yurio exclaimed. “I thought he was just making an excuse not to come to the competition.” He glared at Viktor before pointing at the couch firmly. “Sit the fuck down before you fall over, piggy.”

Yuuri mocked him in a high-pitched voice, but did as he said.

“Why didn’t you take the elevator?” Yurio asked.

“ _There’s an elevator_?” Yuuri cried, but Viktor ignored him.

“I was too eager to see you, I couldn’t wait,” he said, heart smile in place. “See how I put you above the health and safety of my husband? I must love you just as much as him.”

“Hey!” Yuuri complained, throwing an empty water bottle at him. Viktor dodged it and kept smiling. Yurio looked between the two of them like he was trying to figure out what sort of game they were playing. He took another bite of pirozhki before holding it out for Otabek to take a bite.

“Why is he naked?” Viktor said, pointing at Otabek without looking at him.

“He’s not naked,” Yurio said at the same time Otabek answered, “Why do you think?” Viktor chose to only listen to his son’s response.

“I saw your bruise on instagram,” Viktor said, moving on, grinning sharply when Yurio’s cheeks when pink in embarrassment. “Do you want me to look at it for you?”

“No, stay away from me,” Yurio said, repeating it louder when Viktor tried to come near him, batting his hands away.

“Come on, Yurio, you used to let me take care of all your bruises when you were little,” he said. He remembered when Yurio first started coming to the rink, just a small ball of good intentions and blond hair, his big puffy coat always making him look like a little fluff perched atop two skinny little legs. He’d fall and his lip would wobble, threatening tears until Viktor would scoop him up and skate a couple laps with the little tyke on his shoulders. Viktor smiled, remembering, and when Yurio smiled back uncertainly, he knew he was remembering it too.

“I’m not a kid anymore,” Yurio groused, but it lacked heat. He fed another bite of pirozhki to Otabek, who hovered at his shoulder.

“That doesn’t mean you stopped being a little kid to me,” Viktor said, softening his smile. Yurio rolled his eyes but his blush remained.

“Whatever, old man,” he grunted, before leading them over to the couch. It wasn’t big enough for four people, and Viktor hovered awkwardly at the arm next to Yuuri before Otabek settled on the floor, leaning his head back against Yurio’s knees. The brim of his hat pushed against his thighs, sliding the back of the hat low over Otabek’s eyes. He left it like that, presumably to look more intimidating when he glared at Viktor from underneath it. Viktor would like to say that it didn’t work. But it did. He sat down cautiously next to Yurio, keeping his limbs well away from his Kazakh guard dog.

“Why are you here?” Yurio asked, picked the hat up off of his partner’s head and dropping it onto his own, handing him the pirozhki. Viktor wanted to be relieved, but then his fingers were spearing through the older boy’s dark hair and the casual intimacy of it was so great that Viktor had to look away.

“We just wanted to see you, see how you were doing,” Viktor said, faking casual disinterest. Yurio snorted and Viktor shot him a grin. “What, I can’t check up on my favorite young protégé?”

“I’m not your protégé,” Yurio bit out, and _finally_ there was some real anger there.

“Of course you are!” he insisted. “I’m molding you.”

“You might’ve been,” Yurio spat at him, and Viktor noticed that when his knuckled went white in Otabek’s hair, gripping to the point of obvious pain, the older boy just closed his eyes and didn’t say a word. “But then you left, and I got better, so I never needed you anyway!”

“You’re right,” Viktor said, dropping the false grin and staring at him honestly. “I’m sorry I hurt you when I left, but you never needed me to become the skater you are today. If I had stayed, you would’ve just become a new me. You needed to find yourself.”

Yurio reared back, sputtering, he was so angry.

“You almost cost me the Grand Prix,” he shrieked, throwing his hands up in the air, and Viktor winced sympathetically when he saw dark hairs dangling from his fingers. He looked at Otabek only to see him glaring at him levelly.

“You still won, and I still gave you a routine,” Viktor defended. “Besides, didn’t you want the competition? Someone to fight against?”

“I wanted to _win_ ,” he stressed, high flags of color painting his cheeks.

“Where’s the fun of winning if you don’t have anyone to beat?’

“It wasn’t about _fun,_ it was about _money_!” Yurio screamed. “And my career! It was about my grandpa’s heart surgery! Which you would’ve known, if you’d stayed around. If you would’ve _coached me_ , instead of giving me a routine, working with me for a week and then sending me home, as a loser.” He sat back heavily in his seat, eyes shining, and Otabek quickly stood up. He curled one arm under Yurio’s legs and lifted him, sliding underneath and settling him in his lap with smooth, practices movements. Viktor just stared, gaping. He looked at Yuuri and found him with his arms crossed, shaking his head disapprovingly, like this wasn’t entirely his fault, for tempting him away from Russia with his charming smile, mischievous wit and gorgeous thighs. He looked back at Yurio, still speechless, and found him slouched against the older boy’s chest, brim of the douchey hat pulled low over his eyes. “So fuck you, old man. I may be the skater I am today because of you, but you don’t get to take credit for that. _I_ _do_ , for surviving you, and the shit you put me through.” He sniffed, wetly, and Viktor’s heart broke.

“You’re right,” he admitted. “I’m sorry.” Yurio regarded him carefully, waiting for the joke, the jab, the trick. But Viktor didn’t have any. Yurio was right, and even if Viktor wouldn’t change anything, wouldn’t risk the amazing life he’d found in Yuuri for him, he was still sorry. “I’m sorry I left you when I did, like I did.” He looked at his husband and held out a hand. Yuuri grabbed it without question. “But I was in love,” he said, turning back to Yurio beseechingly “You—might—understand that?” he asked, unsure, looking between Yurio and the boy wrapped around his back. Otabek murmured something in his ear, keeping his eyes on Viktor the whole time. He didn’t know what it was, but Yurio deflated, lingering anger draining out of him. He shoved his hands into the front pocket of his Otabek-sized sweatshirt and sighed, blowing a strand of hair out of his face.

“Whatever, old man,” he grumbled, looking annoyed, but when Otabek brushed his hair over his shoulder and dropped a peck against his cheek, he softened. “I’ll think of some terrible way you can make it up to me.”

“And in the meantime?” Viktor asked, smile perking back up on his cheeks. Yuuri squeezed his hand, and his grin widened.

“In the meantime, you can keep baking for us, I guess,” Yurio said, with a very tiny grin.

“Us?” he asked, eyebrows raising, looking between the two younger skaters. “How long is he staying?”

“For a while,” Yuri said, jutting out his chin combatively. “You can try talking to him, if you want, he’s going to be around, you might as well get used to it.”

“Hm,” Viktor said, an eyebrow raised in only very slight condescension as the Kazakh stared at him blankly. He turned back to Yurio. “What would you say if I asked you to move in with us?” Yurio’s jaw dropped and Yuuri sighed defeatedly next to him. Viktor quickly pointed at Otabek. “He can’t come.”

Yurio shrieked in indignant anger, Otabek bared his teeth at Viktor like an actual bear, and Yuuri stood up on his hurt knee and walked back to the kitchen, complaining that he needed a snack and was getting too old for this bullshit. Viktor just grinned, happy to be with family.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning for off screen Non-Consensual Touching with the implication of sex in exchange for goods. A Very Explicit warning is in the end notes, please look ahead if you need to!

Yurio didn’t move in, but after the competition season ended and Otabek was still staying in Russia, Viktor convinced Yuri and Otabek to come to dinner every two weeks. Viktor even got Yurio to agree to have lunch, just the two of them, once a week.

At one of those lunches, Viktor very solemnly reached across the table asked Yurio if he needed to give him a sex talk. Yuri shrieked, as expected, and Viktor got a good laugh out of it.

“But really, “ he said, mostly serious again. “Do you have any questions? Concerns? Has he ever hurt you? Accidentally, or on purpose? I won’t judge,” he said, lying blatantly. He was so prepared to judge Otabek. He wanted to judge him so hard.

“Ohmigod, stop it,” Yuri whined, pulling his hood up over his face. “You’re so embarrassing.”

“Really, I thought I was Viktor,” he said, laughing. Yurio glared at him like he was crazy. He just shrugged. “I’m trying out some Dad Jokes. I don’t think I’ve really got it yet.”

“Definitely not,” Yurio complained, shoving dessert into his mouth. It was quiet for a few moments, before Yurio mumbled something into his Crème Brule that was so quiet and inarticulate Viktor didn’t catch any of it.

“What was that?” he asked, pushing the rest of his cake towards Yurio as bait.

“I said we don’t do anything like that,” he said, the words just barely distinct. Viktor’s eyebrows rose up his forehead as his smile widened.

“Is my son really talking to me about sex? Have I reached the pinnacle of parenting?”

“Don’t ruin it,” Yurio groused, looking supremely uncomfortable.

“Okay, sorry, sorry,” Viktor said, still grinning like a loon. “Can I ask why you don’t…?” he trailed off, leaving it at that.

“I don’t need to tell you anything,” Yurio bit out harshly.

“Okay.” A couple of minutes passed quietly.

“I don’t really know if I want to,” Yurio finally offered and Viktor grinned into his coffee cup. Maybe Yuuri was right, he needed to let the little kitten come to him. “And Beka says I’m still too young to know for sure, anyway.”

“He’s right, you’re still very young to be having sex,” Viktor said, nodding sagely as if he hadn’t been trying to get his dick on everything that moved at his age.

“Not really,” Yuri scoffed. “I’m sixteen, almost everyone my age is already having sex.”

“Well you’re not like everyone else,” Viktor said, waving his hand dismissively. “You’re a late bloomer.”

“I think that’s what it is,” Yurio said, no longer eating his desserts, just pushing them around his plate. His cheeks were getting red. “I don’t think… I don’t know if I feel what I’m supposed to feel,” he said haltingly, awkwardly. And that made Viktor awkward too, because really what was he supposed to say to that? He said nothing and hoped the younger boy would offer something else up. After a few more moments, he did. “Like, we do some stuff, and I really like it. But, I think about the _other stuff_ we could be doing and I don’t want to. I get like, anxious or whatever.”

“Is he pressuring you?” Viktor asked, grip about his coffee cup tight.

“No, he wouldn’t do that,” Yurio defended, glaring at him, and the certainty in his voice allowed Viktor to relax. “He says we can wait as long as I need to. But, Otabek used to fuck around a lot. And, like, we know a lot of them.”

“Like who?” Viktor asked, leaning forward in his seat, because deep down he was really just a messy bitch who lived for the drama.

“Like _JJ_ ,” Yurio sneered. “And Leo. And he fucked Emil and Michele at the same time. That’s why they’re together now.” Viktor’s brows kept rising in surprise until he was sure they had found his hairline. “And, like, I feel like the longer we’re not doing stuff, the more he’ll miss the people who would do stuff with him.”

“He loves you, Yurio,” Viktor consoled, patting the back of his hand very awkwardly. He thought he’d wanted parenthood, but if this was what it was like all the time, maybe he wasn’t ready.

“Obviously he loves me,” Yurio said, rolling his eyes. “He’s practically obsessed with me, he loves me so much.” A small smile lit up his face and Viktor was kind enough not to mention it. “But, what if I never want to? He says it’s probably because I’m still growing so much and my body doesn’t feel like mine, because it’s changing all the time. And he says that I should just be patient and wait, but. What if I never want to?”

Viktor’s grip tightened around his glass and he fervently wished he’d gotten a mimosa or a bloody mary or something he could drown himself in so he didn’t have to listen to his teenage son try to pep talk himself into having sex he clearly wasn’t ready for.

“I’m sure you’ll grow up just fine. Because, whether you decide you want to or not, either way is perfectly natural,” he said instead of screaming. “And Otabek is with you now, so clearly sex,” he stuttered over the word like he wasn’t a grown-ass married man, “isn’t the only thing on his mind.”

“Yeah,” Yurio said, nodding down at his place, slowly and then more assuredly. “Yeah, okay.”

And just like that, Viktor passed his first test of parenting.

 

 

“Why do you live here?” Viktor finally asked, the burning question leaping from his lips despite Yuuri’s _multiple_ attempts to silence it.

“Excuse me?” Yurio said, dropping the dish he was drying. Viktor watched as it just bounced off the ground; plastic, not even real ceramic.

“This apartment is terrible,” Viktor complained, gesturing around the tiny kitchen where they were washing ( _plastic!)_ dishes.

“This apartment is not terrible!” Yurio insisted immediately, and the genuinely distressed look in his eyes told Viktor that maybe Yuuri was right after all. He hates when that happens. “I take care of this place. And Otabek and I have been able to fix all the leaks and light bulbs and stuff, so we don’t have to call the creepy landlord,” Yurio protested, and Viktor supposed that was true. It was messy, because there were clothes and nicknacks strewn everywhere, but the kitchen and bathroom ( _bathroom! Just the one!)_ were always pristine and Viktor hadn’t found any bugs.

“Still,” he whined. “You could do better. Get more space.”

“I don’t need more space,” Yurio snapped, nose high in the air, though Viktor could tell from the jut of his jaw that he was hurt.

“A better neighborhood, then,” Viktor pleaded. “This isn’t a safe place to live, Yurio. We worry about you.” Yurio threw his dishtowel down and crossed his arms, leveling Viktor with a furious look.

“Do poor people scare you, Viktor?” he asked icily. “By all means, if the silver spoon stuck up your ass keeps you from being comfortable around poor people, you can show yourself out anytime.”

Otabek appeared in the kitchen, like a fucking ghost, always seeming to silently slink into a room whenever Yurio got upset. It was annoying. And terrifying.

“You know that’s not what I’m saying,” Viktor said, hands up placatingly. He knew how proud Yurio was. He _hadn’t_ known how much work Yurio must be putting into keeping this apartment nice. He suddenly had the guilt-filled image of Yurio scurrying around, frantically cleaning up before he and Yuuri came over.

“Yurio, you’re an internationally competitive figure skate,” Yuuri said, from the kitchen table, where he and Otabek had been making tea. “You’re not that poor.”

“Figure skating only pays if I win,” he said, sniffing. “And for as long as I’m a minor, my mother gets almost all of my money from advertisements. What I keep goes to Yakov for coaching fees, Grandpa for anything he needs, and this apartment. So if it’s not nice enough for you, you can go back to your massive, bourgie penthouse.”

“Okay, I’m sorry, we didn’t mean it,” Yuuri apologized for him, bringing Yurio a cup of tea and walking away like Viktor wasn’t still reeling. Otabek wrapped the blond boy up in his arms and kissed his cheek, leading him out of the kitchenette and to the couch to sip tea and watch YouTube videos, or whatever it was that young people did.

Viktor stayed standing by the sink. He hadn’t fully realized Yurio’s situation. He knew it was far from dire _,_ that he still did well enough to support himself. He was clearly _capable_ of supporting himself but Viktor couldn’t help but think a sixteen year old shouldn’t _have to._ He didn’t want his family to want for anything, not if he could help.

He had known long ago that Yurio was estranged from his parents, that they’re relationship was fraught with guilt and resentment, on both sides. He knew he’d been living with his grandfather since he was seven but that the old man had never been able to sue for custody. And he had known, generally, that his grandfather hadn’t been in the best of health. It was only now that Yurio was opening up more, and that Viktor was trying to make a firmer place in his life that he realized how sick the old man was. And all of that greatly impacted Yurio and his financial situation.

Viktor wanted to help. He didn’t know how, didn’t know what the little tiger would accept. Viktor had never wanted for anything, he didn’t understand the delicate pride of those who had worked just as hard for so much less than him. Yurio would fight him, would argue that he didn’t need help, but Viktor hated seeing his neighborhood on the evening news. It wasn’t safe. Yurio would hate hearing him say so, but he would have to try. He’d ask Yuuri how to approach it, Yuuri who had spent nearly every penny he had to study and train in the United States. He would know.

Viktor was pulled from his revere by the gentle touch of his husband, placing a mug in one hand and a kiss on the back of the other.

“Did you hear me?” he asked sweetly.

“No, I’m sorry, I missed it,” Viktor answered, taking a sip of perfectly sweetened tea.

“Yurio wants to show you something, it’s a hairstyle for next season, he wants to know if you can do it for him.” Yuuri led him by the hand out of the kitchenette and out of his murky thoughts, depositing him on the couch where Yurio was excitedly swiping through a pinboard dedicated to hairstyling. Viktor settled in, draping his arm over the back of the couch.

“What do you want me to do?” Yurio grinned at him with shark teeth, and Viktor knew he’d be in for a challenge. He smiled back.

 

 

It was only a week and a half later, and Viktor had been stewing on the Yurio issue without actually making progress. To be fair, it wasn’t the only thing on his mind.

Late morning light was drifting into the bedroom as Viktor and Yuuri were having a lazy lie-in. Yuuri had just returned to his waiting arms, insisting on brushing his teeth before Viktor could successfully ply him with soft touches everywhere. They were kissing deeply but without hurry, Viktor’s hands tangled in Yuuri’s hair, Yuuri’s hand spanning the breadth of his thigh, gently encouraging his partner to hook it up around his waist, pulling them together in a rolling grind.

Viktor had just started to pant into his mouth when his phone rang.

“Leave it,” Yuuri whispered to him, voice gone dark and heavy with desire.

“I should see who it is,” Viktor reasoned, staring at his wet lips, not all that motivated to actually reach for it.

“If it’s anyone but Yurio, it goes to voicemail,” Yuuri allowed, pushing Viktor away enough for him to roll onto his back and grope around his side of the bed for his phone.

It wasn’t Yurio. It was Otabek. Otabek, who should be in Kazakhstan, visiting his family.

That was shocking enough for Viktor to sit straight up, dick forgotten, as he answered the call without giving explanation to his partner.

“Hello?” he asked, inexplicably nervous.

“You need to go get Yura right now,” the other man said immediately, and Viktor’s anxious feeling proved true.

“What happened?” he demanded, already swinging his feet to the floor, heading to his closet to grab a shirt, motioning for Yuuri to do the same. Yuuri recovered from the shock creasing his face and got out of bed.

“I can’t tell you,” Otabek said, and Viktor cursed. “But,” he continued in quick order, evidently feeling that there wasn’t time to waste. “I can tell you that he doesn’t feel safe, I know exactly where he is, and you need to go get him.”

“Text me the address, we’re leaving now,” Viktor said, before hanging up so he could drag his jeans up over his hips and his shirt the rest of the way over his head.

“What’s going on?” Yuuri asked, concerned, hopping around as he tried to pull his tennis shoes on.

“I don’t know, but we need to go find Yurio,” was all Viktor knew, but Yuuri accepted it immediately, apologetically brushing past Makkachin, who was waiting outside the bedroom door. Within seconds, they had keys in hand and were out the door.

 

 

When Viktor pulled up to the address Otabek had sent, he left the car running and rolled out, shoving open the doors of the coffeeshop. He ignored the barista’s greeting and scanned the limited seating until he found a small bundle of cheetah print sitting in the very back corner. His long legs brought him there in seconds, and Yurio flinched away when his knees cracked as he knelt down beside him.

He looked up from where his head was buried in the circle of his arms, legs pulled up to his chest. He was in cheetah leggings and a torn, oversized tshirt; definitely not dressed for the weather. His face was red and there were tears in his eyes.

“Yura, what happened?” Viktor breathed, a careful hand touching his arm.

“Of course he called you,” Yurio groused, embarrassedly wiping the water from his cheeks, though more fell from his eyes just as soon as it was gone.

“What’s wrong?” he asked, eyes wide, looking up at him. “Otabek wouldn’t tell me. He just said you weren’t safe.”

“I can’t go home,” Yurio said with a wet, coughing laugh.

“Why? What happened?” He felt a hand close over his shoulder and he realized Yuuri was standing behind him.

“I didn’t have my rent this month,” he said, hiccupping slightly.

“It’s okay, Yurio, that’s not the end of the world,” Viktor said, running his hands briskly up over his arms, seeing gooesbumps covering his skin. He brushed over the sleeve of his shirt, and that’s when he saw the bruise underneath.

Forgetting to be careful, Viktor grabbed his arm and yanked his short sleeve up to his shoulder, exposing the handprint wrapped around the teenager’s bicep. Yurio was shaking in his hands, fresh tears falling.

“Who did this to you?” Viktor asked, trying to swallow enough of his anger to keep his voice soft. He worked on loosening his grip on his pale arm, finger by finger gentling.

“I went to my landlord,” Yurio said in a voice that was too quiet. Viktor saw in the corner of his eyes a barista coming up to Yuuri, whispering something in his ear and handing him a to go cup of something steaming. “I told him I would have the rest at the end of the week, but he grabbed me,” his voice cracked, and he buried his head back into his knees. “He told me there were other things I could do, and he pushed me into the wall and he, he, t-touched me.”

Viktor stood up in a rush, taking two steps away and shoving both his hands back through his silver hair, so angry he was shaking. He turned away, not wanting to scare the already frightened boy. Yuuri stepped into his space, setting a featherlight hand on the boy’s hunched back, leaning down to speak quietly to him.

“The barista said Otabek called and ordered this for you, if you want to warm up,” he said in soothing tones, handing off the cardboard cup and slipping out of his own coat to wrap around the blond’s shaking shoulders. Viktor saw Yurio glance up to the concerned faces of the baristas behind the counter and he flushed further, hiding his face again.

“Where’s your jacket?” Viktor asked, stepping between Yurio and them, blocking their line of sight.

“Home,” Yurio said stricken. “I pushed him off, but I didn’t know what to do. I couldn’t go back upstairs.” He shuddered again, eyes squeezing tightly shut. “He has a key. And he’s bigger than me. So I just left.” Viktor rubbed his hands down over his face, trying to think through the blinding fury. He knelt down back in front of him, a gentle hand on his shoulder.

“What do you want to do? Do you want to come home with us? Do you want us to take you back to your place? We can stay there with you.” Viktor swept his thumb in a soothing circle, brushing his blond hair out of his face with his other hand. “Whatever you want to do, we’ll take care of it.”

“Can I go back to your house?” he asked quietly, wiping his running nose on his wrist. Yuuri handed him a napkin, and squeezed the nape of Viktor’s neck approvingly.

“Yeah,” Viktor breathed, going weak with relief. “Let’s get you home.”

Yurio stood, hands wrapped around his cup, Yuuri’s coat wrapped around his shoulders, and he leaned into Viktor’s side just slightly when he wrapped his arm around his back. His husband headed to the counter to pay for the drink, but Viktor saw both the women shake their heads and turn him away. He smiled slightly and nodded at them.

When they stepped back out the door into the blustery St. Petersburg wind, Viktor frowned.

“Where’s the car?” he asked, staring at the empty space in front of him.

“You left it running in the middle of the street like a crazy person,” Yuuri said exasperatedly. “I had to park it.” That, at least, made Yurio laugh a little as Yuuri led them to where he’d left the car.

Otherwise, though, the ride home was quiet. Thoughts were flying lightning fast through Viktor’s mind. They would need to confront the man to break the lease, they would have to press charges. Viktor pulled out his phone and sent an email to his lawyer. Then he sent a text to Otabek, thanking him for calling and letting him know Yurio was okay. After that was done, though, there was nothing he could do other than sit in the car and stew in impotent anger. His hand clenched rhythmically in the fabric of his pants until Yuuri reached over and pushed his fingers through his tight fist, giving him something to hold onto.

When they got back to the house, Viktor fluttered around Yurio to an annoying degree, so much that Yurio should’ve snapped at him. He didn’t, though. He let himself be herded to the couch, let himself be wrapped up tightly like a burrito, and let Viktor sit on the floor and pet his hair.

“Yurio, we need to know what you want to do next,” Viktor murmured softly. Yuuri dropped a kiss on the top of his head when he headed back out with Makkachin, and gave Yurio’s ankle a squeeze through the blanket. “If you want to press charges, we need to do that sooner rather than later.”

“I don’t want to press charges,” he said, his frowning face just barely peeking out of the cowl of the blanket. Viktor’s eyebrows shot up in surprise.

“You don’t?”

“No,” Yurio said, shrugging and sipping his drink. “Otabek says he’s going to break his legs, and if we press charges, we have no leverage to make sure Otabek doesn’t get arrested, too.”

Viktor blinked at him.

“You’re telling me,” he said slowly, “that you don’t want to go to the police, so that your boyfriend can _break_ your attacker’s _legs._ ”

“Yeah,” Yurio said with a nod.

“Motherfucker,” Viktor sighed, sitting back heavily against the coffee table. He put his head in his hands and sat there breathing deeply until Yuuri came back with their reasonable child. Makka bounded up onto the couch as soon as Yuuri unclipped the leash and began licking all over Yurio’s face.

“What happened here?” Yuuri asked, seeing Viktor drag himself up off the floor and hurry over to him.

“Yurio doesn’t want to press charges because he wants Otabek to _break his legs instead._ ”

Yuuri blinked at him.

“Can he do that?”

“Not legally!” Viktor answered, distressed. Yuuri just leaned around Viktor and asked Yurio.

“Can Otabek really do that?” Yurio nodded.

“He’s done it before. With one of those American baseball bats.”

“Wow,” Yuuri said, and his cheeks were a little pink. A little pink, like they got when Viktor kissed his neck, a little pink, like he was a little turned on. Viktor sucked in a scandalized breath and Yuuri’s face immediately morphed into one of contrition.

“How dare you be aroused by our son’s boyfriend,” Viktor hissed in his ear, shoving his chest lightly.

“It’s just a little cool,” Yuuri defended.

“He’s really cool,” Yurio piped up. Viktor glared at him and he glared back, though the purple blanket pulled high up around his ears and the poodle lying on his chest cost him some of his intimidation factor.

“Otabek can’t just go around breaking people’s legs,” Viktor insisted, shrilly.

“That guy can’t go around molesting people,” Yuuri insisted.

“You’re on _his_ _side_?!”

“Yeah, I’m on Yurio’s side,” Yuuri said, crossing his arms and cocking his hip. “We threaten him with the police to get Yurio out of his lease. If he doesn’t, we go the legal route, because a lease is a legal contract. If he lets Yurio go without a fuss, we don’t call the police, let him think he’s safe, and then Otabek comes back and breaks his legs. So he never does it again.”

Viktor’s cheeks were a little pink now, watching his husband casually plot the comeuppance of a man who had done his family wrong.

“Oh, Yuuri,” he purred, spine going liquid as he stepped in close. “You’re so _dangerous_.” Yuuri just rolled his eyes, but Viktor saw them twinkle.

“Keep it in your pants, darling,” he said, kissing him swiftly but filthily, before sitting on the couch next to Yurio. Viktor stood in a daze for a moment longer before wiping his mouth and joining them.

“What, I say Otabek should break his legs and it’s ridiculous, but piggy says it and it’s totally reasonable?” Yurio grumbled, but Viktor thought he might’ve been hiding a smile in Makkachin’s fur.

“Are you sure this is what you want to do, Yurio?” Yuuri asked, all serious again. “You can stay here for as long as you want, and we’ll help you and Otabek find a new place when you’re ready.”

“Thanks,” Yurio mumbled, letting Makka lick all over his face.

“Viktor and I can go move your stuff out today, if you want,” Yuuri offered and Viktor saw Yurio’s knuckles go white in the dog’s fur.

“Do you have to do it today?” he asked in a voice that was very small.

“We should get your stuff out as soon as possible,” Yuuri suggested. “Like you said, he has a key.”

“Can’t we wait for Otabek to get back?”

“Viktor and I can do it ourselves,” Yuuri assured him, but when Yurio bit his lip, Viktor knew what he was afraid of.

“How about Yuuri stays here with you, and I’ll ask Mila and Georgi to help me,” Viktor said softly, dropping his fingertips to Yurio’s hair. Viktor ran his fingers through it, something Yurio hadn’t let him done since he was eleven years old.

“Is that okay?” Yurio asked, and Viktor wanted to hurt anyone who made that loud angry boy that scared to ask for what he needed.

“Absolutely.” Viktor said. “Yuuri can stay with you, make you food and tea, and you’ll have someone to beat in video games.”

“Hey,” Yurri barked, affronted. But it was true, and they all knew it.

“I’ll go get started,” Viktor said, snatching up his car keys and his coat. Yuuri followed him to the door.

“You know,” Yuuri murmured lowly, wrapping his scarf around his husband’s neck. “That Mila is in Italy and Georgi has a modeling gig this week in Moscow. You just signed up to move that boy out yourself.”

“He doesn’t want to be alone,” Viktor whispered back, pressing a kiss to his partner’s temple. “You have to stay with him. I’ll take care of everything.”

“Hey,” his partner said when he was halfway out the door. “You’d be a really great dad.”

Viktor leaned in and kissed him again, smiling and pressing his thanks against his lips.

 

 

It took four hours to pack everything up and jam it into the car. The landlord never showed his face, and Viktor while the logical side of Viktor knew that was for the best, the angry, selfish side of him was just begging for a reason to break his hand against that man’s face. In the end, though, Viktor made multiple trips up and down those stairs and the landlord’s door never even cracked open.

He had boxes labeled “Yurio” and “Otabek” as best he could figure. If he screamed a little when he found a box of sex toys under Otabek’s side of the bed, it was a very manly, dignified scream, and he didn’t throw up in his mouth at all, nope, definitely not. He shoved as much as he could in his tiny car, and as he drove back to his apartment, he called Nikolai to see if he could borrow the truck for the bigger stuff. He agreed, though Viktor did have to lie a little as to the reason. He told the older man that Yurio was finally moving in with him while he looked for a better apartment. Which was almost the whole truth, so he didn’t feel that bad. He didn’t want to worry the old man any more than he had to.

He was a little sweaty by the time he’d brought all the boxes up to the penthouse, and dropped into Yurio’s new room. Yuuri offered to help, but Viktor pushed him back into the couch, pretending not to smile too broadly at the way he and Yurio had been sharing a blanket. His knee was still sore, and Viktor didn’t want Yurio to be alone for a second.

It took him the rest of the day to drive to Nikolai’s house, get the truck, drive back to St. Petersburg, drag the big pieces of furniture to the elevator and out in to the trunk by himself, drive it back to the apartment, unload it into his apartment storage unit, and then drive back to Nikolai’s house to return the truck and get his car again. By the time Viktor returned home for the last time, he was exhausted. He flopped down onto the floor in front of the couch, and let Yurio and Yuuri poke at him with their cold toes, pretending to be dead.

“I asked Mila how it was going,” Yurio said, when they were sitting down for dinner. “She was she was at a nude beach in Italy.” Viktor pretended he didn’t hear him, exclaiming loudly that Yuuri had made a delicious meal for them, and how amazing his husband was. Yurio just coughed into his water glass. “I mean, just, thanks, or whatever.” Viktor just reached across the table and patted his hand.

“I finally got my wish,” he said, after they were all standing in the kitchen doing dishes and making tea.

“What wish was that, dear?” Yuuri asked, handing him a stack of plates to put away.

“Yurio finally moved in with us!”

“Only until I get my own place,” Yurio growled, shoving huge bites of chocolate cake in his mouth like he thought they might take it away from him any moment. If Viktor didn’t want to get bitched out by Yakov, he would’ve. But he figured today, the boy deserves some cake.

“Remember, Viktor,” Yuuri cautioned him, whipping the corner of a dishtowel at him and catching him just under the ass. “Otabek will be moving in too.”

Viktor thought about that box he definitely didn’t find and he threw up in his mouth again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yurio's landlord grabs him and attempts to initiate sexual content in exchange for rent money. This occurs out of the narrative and you hear it only in Yurio's own words. He escapes immediately and sustains only minor bruises on his arms.


	3. Chapter 3

Otabek was back in Russia the next day.

Viktor definitely did not eavesdrop on their Skype call, but if he had, he would have been incredibly proud of how brave Yurio had been, and how he had very selflessly told Otabek he was fine and safe and that he should enjoy the rest of his visit with his family. Otabek had asked him if he was fucking kidding, of course he was going to be on the next fucking plane. Not that Viktor had been listening. Of course not. He would never invade his child’s privacy like that.

Viktor went with Yurio to pick Otabek up at the airport, and he couldn’t help but notice that when he got off the plane, his personal item was a baseball bat. Yurio noticed too, if the flush and squeal were indicators. Otabek dropped it and his duffel bag to wrap Yurio in his arms and lift him off the ground. Yurio’s legs wrapped up around his waist in a completely impractical show of flexibility. Viktor had to clear his throat when he caught a flash of tongue in their kiss. They detangled without looking the least bit embarrassed.

Viktor could tell Otabek was still boiling with anger. He could see it in the tight way he nodded at Viktor, in the strength of his grip when he shook his hand and thanked him for taking care of his Yura. It took everything in Viktor not to sniff snootily that he had been _his_ Yura first. But, he recognized that when the most important Yuri in his life became Yuuri, and Yura became Yurio, that perhaps he left the door open for someone else to come along and be the most important person in the young boy’s life. When Otabek let go and scooped his bat back up, letting it lean against his shoulder with dangerous promise, Viktor thought that he definitely could’ve had a worse replacement. He just nodded back and led them to the car.

He didn’t say anything when they disappeared directly into Yurio’s room as soon as they were home, and didn’t come out for a very long time.

He didn’t say anything when he and Yuuri returned to the apartment the next day, after threatening the landlord into releasing Yurio from the lease, to find them tangled together on the couch, watching Disney movies. Or, rather, Yurio was watching the movie. Otabek was stroking over the bruises on Yurio’s arm, staring at the handprints marring his seemingly delicate skin.

He didn’t say anything when Otabek came back the day after that with a split lip and blood speckled over the cracked wood of his baseball bat.

He didn’t say anything when Yurio saw him come in the door and immediately dropped the controller he’d been holding, rushing to him and kissing him hard enough to smear blood over both of their faces. Yuuri cleared his throat though, and suggested they make use of the bathroom to clean themselves up.

He didn’t say anything when Yurio came to dinner hours later with mused hair and a glassy look in his eyes, or about the protective arm Otabek kept slung around his shoulders or waist at all times. Even when they were eating. It was, frankly, ridiculous to watch, and Viktor chanced a glance at his husband to share a silent laugh.

He did, however, ask Yurio the next day whether his previous virgin status had changed.

Yurio flushed red all the way to his roots and sputtered that he didn’t know.

“How do you not know?” Viktor asked. “It can’t be _that_ small.”

“Oh my God, no,” Yurio shouted, covering his face with his arms. When he looked back at Viktor, his shoulders were hiked up high towards his ears and his signature scowl was in place.

“I just mean,” he began, picking up what he knew was Viktor’s favorite pillow and savagely pulling out threads. “It depends on what you count. You know, as being a virgin or not.” Viktor’s eyebrows chased his receding hairline.

“Was an attempt at mutual orgasms made?”

“No,” Yurio said, staring at the pillow in his lap. “But he, um,” he coughed, “for me.”

“So selfless,” Viktor mused, his gaze sharp. “Did he make you?”

“You know by now that he’s not like that,” Yurio groused, and Viktor conceded the point.

“Did you make yourself? I don’t want you doing anything out of some misplaced sense of duty. You don’t owe him anything. And just because you’re older now doesn’t mean you have to start doing anything you don’t want to.”

“It wasn’t like that,” he grumbled, face nearly purple he was blushing so much. “He told me what he wanted to do to me, what he wished he could do, and I said yes.”

Viktor sipped his tea. The gossipy bitch in him wanted to know what exactly Otabek had whispered to him, but the father in him cringed at the idea of anyone sexualizing his young protégé.

“Did you like it?” he settled on asking.

“I don’t want to talk to you about this,” Yurio grumbled.

“Okay,” he said, taking a sip and trying to wait patiently.

“It was,” Yurio began after a long few minutes to silence, but for the steady ripping of cloth. “Nice?” he finally decided on. “I don’t know. It was nice but it was… overwhelming.” He dropped Viktor’s ruined pillow to the floor. “I don’t think I want to do it all the time, but i think, maybe, in a year or two, it might be something I like.”

“Well,” Viktor said, barely resisting the urge to wiggle in his seat in self-satisfaction at earning the young man’s confidence. “As long as you’re comfortable.” He raised a significant eyebrow. “And you stay quiet. I don’t want to overhear anything.”

Yurio screamed at him like a prehistoric creature and fled to his room, slamming his door like the teenager he was. Viktor his sipped his tea and grinned to Makkachin. He had this parenting thing down.

 

Yurio stayed for a long time. Longer than either of them anticipated. In fact, despite all his talk, Yurio didn’t seem to be making any effort to find a new place.

Viktor was afraid to bring it up because he was half worried that Yurio was still having nightmares and suffering from the lingering trauma of his previous landlord, and half afraid that if he brought it up, then Yurio would leave just to prove that he could. Viktor knew it was strange, to have a seventeen year old and a nineteen year old living with them, not quite like roommates but not quite like children. But it still seemed so young to be living alone, and Viktor liked having them around. They kept him young, made his heart feel full. And he had the financial privilege to support them all, so why not? So Viktor didn’t say anything, Yuuri didn’t say much, and Yurio didn’t go anywhere.

Of course that also meant that Otabek stayed with them. Which was becoming less and less of a problem, actually. The longer they lived together, the more Viktor saw glimpses of the real Otabek, the version of himself that likely only Yurio was privy to. The real Otabek was funny and sarcastic and charming, and disarmingly intelligent. Viktor vividly remembered the time in which he absently complimented the score of a movie they were watching and Otabek quietly but confidently spoke about the composer, her muses and influences, and the effects used to create such a moving body of music. Viktor had been impressed, and the way Yurio wrapped his arms firmly around his partner and pressed his lips absently to his cheek told Viktor that the younger Russian had noticed.

Viktor had achieved another fatherly pinnacle when he and Yurio had a mature conversation about his relationship with Otabek.

“You know,” he began, on a drive home from Lilia’s house where the two of them had gone to check in on her cats while she and Yakov were away on a third honeymoon. “It’s not typical for most seventeen year olds to be living with their boyfriends,” he observed absently.

“It’s not typical for a thirty year old man to have completely grey hair,” Yurio muttered, attention on finding the right filter for his insta post.

“It’s platinum, you little shit, and you know it,” Viktor said, dangerously taking his eyes off the road to snatch his phone out of his hand.

“Hey!” Yurio protested, reaching for the phone. Viktor held it away from him, across his body against the far window.

“No distracting the driver, Yurio, it’s dangerous,” he said, efficient and hypocritical, just like a real parent.

“Give it back,” Yurio growled.

“Listen to the wisdom I’m trying to impart to you and I will.”

“Fine,” Yurio huffed, arms crossed and glaring.

“I know that you and Otabek are very much in love, but it’s important to remember that you’re incredibly young. I know it doesn’t feel like it,” he hedged, glancing at Yurio out of the corner of his eye to make sure he was paying attention. “Because you’re a professional athlete. But you’re still only seventeen, Otabek is only nineteen, and that’s still very young to begin planning your lives together.”

“What’s your point?” Yurio asked grumpily, but at least he wasn’t arguing.

“I’m just saying that you don’t know where your relationship will be in a year from now, with the pressures of your careers and Otabek’s family living in another country, and with both of you still growing up and changing as people. I think it’s lovely that you have such a healthy and loving relationship, and hopefully you two are together for a long time, but it would be smart of you to make sure that your only plan for the future isn’t dependent on him.” Viktor glanced over again and was pleased to find that Yurio was at least scowling contemplatively now. “Like, getting an apartment. You know there’s no reason to move out; you’re saving money and eating healthy at home and there’s no reason you need to get your own place,” he said very quickly in one breath. “But, in a few years, if you _wanted_ to get your own place, it’s probably a good idea to pick a place you can afford on your own. Just in case you two ever have a falling out.”

“That’s not going to happen,” Yurio groused, but his scowl had softened a little, into an understanding pout. Viktor knew Yurio was smart. Young, hormonal and impulsive, but smart. He could tell he listened and probably learned a little bit.

“Of course not, Yura,” Viktor said softly, tossing him his phone. The teenager reached out with both hands to catch it, and Viktor took the distraction to ruffle his fingers through his blond hair, laughing when he tried to bat him away and succeeded only in hitting himself in the forehead with his own phone. Viktor cackled the rest of the way home.

Viktor knew Yurio was grateful for the talk, or at least not furious about it, because when Viktor got out of the car and checked his own phone, he saw he’d been tagged in Yurio’s new post. And that was as close to a ‘thank you’ as the boy ever got.

“Is Otabek home yet?” Yurio asked, dropping his jacket by the door. Viktor picked it up instantly, hanging it on its hook, and caught Yurio smirking at him over his shoulder while he did it. Viktor stuck his tongue out and was treated with a real smile before it was hidden behind blond hair again.

“No, not yet,” Yuuri called from the kitchen. “Yurio, come help me put dishes away.”

“No,” Yurio said, even though he was already in the kitchen washing his hands. Yuuri handed him a towel and then a stack of plates and Yurio started putting them away without another complaint.

Viktor had started on dinner and Yuuri and Yurio were watching America’s Next Top Model in the living room by the time Otabek finally made it home from practice.

“Hey, babe,” Yurio called. The older boy dropped his bag by the door and shuffled over to the couch, collapsing over the arm and dramatically flopping his body over Yurio and Yuuri’s laps. “Oh, my god, you’re disgusting,” Yurio shrieked, pushing at his shoulder to try to roll his sweaty body off them. Yuuri just laughed and held onto Otabek’s legs, making sure he didn’t actually fall off the couch. Viktor watched from the kitchen with a bright smile as Otabek told them about his grueling practice.

“Katsu, if you get a chance tomorrow, can you help me with my step-sequence?” he asked, wiggling into a more comfortable position with his head in Yurio’s lap. Viktor smiled at the affectionate name Otabek and Yurio used for his husband; he was pretty sure Otabek thought it was just short for his last name, but he was certain Yurio used it as an abbreviation of Katsudon, still.

“Of course,” Yuuri answered easily, still blushing a little across his cheeks at being sought out for advice, probably because Yurio and Otabek did it so seldom. They were both very independent young people; Viktor took it as a beautiful sign that they were comfortably relying on them now. Like a real family.

Viktor sighed contently, watching over his family with such soft appreciation. He thought Yuuri was the best thing to happen to him, the sweetest gift that he could ever receive. He had no idea his life, and his heart, would get quite so full. When Yurio and Otabek left to take Makkachin on their pre-dinner walk, Viktor couldn’t stop himself from putting a pause on dinner preparation and flinging himself into his husband’s space. Straddling him on the couch, Viktor threaded his fingers through his hair, cupping the back of his skull as he kissed him slowly.

“Mm,” Yuuri sighed against him, arms wrapping around his back. “I’m glad you waited for the boys to leave to do that, or you would’ve broken Otabek’s leg.” Viktor just smiled down at him, kissing him again and again, sweetly and full of devotion. “What’s gotten into you?” Yuuri asked, hugging him tightly.

“I’m just so happy,” Viktor said, eyes shining like hearts. “I’m happier than I ever thought I’d be.” Admitting it out loud, and looking down into his husband’s loving, accepting gaze, Viktor couldn’t help by get a little misty at how true it was. His life had been so dark before Yuuri, so dark that he couldn’t even appreciate the family that he did have. Yuuri helped bring him back to life, gave him his family back. “I love you so much,” he whispered against his lips.

“I love you, too,” Yuuri murmured, kissing him again. Viktor clambered off his lap twenty minutes later when he heard the doorknob turn, pulling Yuuri up by a hand and drawing him into the kitchen to help him finish dinner. They cooked and danced and spun together in their own world, hand feeding each other ingredients and giggling against each other’s cheeks. Yurio and Otabek indulgently ignored them, playing with Makka and Puma on the living room floor.

“You’re so happy today,” Yuuri giggled to him, hip-checking him gently at the sink.

“I’m just really glad to be home,” Viktor said, arm wrapping around his shoulders, kissing his temple. “I’m glad we’re all home.”

 

 

 

It was after over seven months of cohabitating, when Yuuri was the first to say something about changing the arrangement. Viktor and Yuuri had been getting ready for bed, teeth brushed and looking soft in loose pants. Viktor was busy plugging in his watch when his husband brought up Yurio moving out.

“Don’t you think it’s time?” Yuuri asked, and Viktor felt his jaw drop. Of all the people he expected to bring it up, Yuuri was the last.

“No,” Viktor said earnestly. “I love having Yurio with us.”

“I do, too,” his husband answered, placing his hand on his gently. “But remember what we talked about using that room for?” Viktor blushed pinkly and turned away from his husband’s earnest eyes.

“We _are_ using it as a kid’s room. Our kid is Yura.” He heard Yuuri sigh as he took his hand away.

“He’s almost eighteen. He’s not a child.”

“He’s not an adult either,” Viktor argued, shifting where he sat on the bed. “Yurio has been in this sport since he was seven, he’s had all his decisions made for him while still having all the pressure of performing on his shoulders. He’s a _professional athlete_ , his emotional development is stunted.”

Yuuri quirked a brow at him.

“I’m perfectly well-adjusted,” he said, snootily.

“I’m not,” Viktor said frankly. “I’m like a giant child sometimes, I know that. Professional sports fuck you up. That’s why I am the way I am, that’s why he is the way he is. It’s different in Russia. You went to Uni, you grew up differently. Yurio hasn’t even finished first levels. He’s amazing and intelligent, but that doesn’t mean he’s an adult. Otabek, too.”

“He was living on his own before us,” Yuuri argued, taking Viktor’s hand in his own. He wouldn’t meet Viktor’s eye, and his hand was a little sweaty. “And if we found him a place nearby, or even in our building, we’d have our own space again.”

“Why do you want space? We have enough space. He doesn’t need to go anywhere.” Viktor watched his husband take in a shaky breath. Something was wrong. He was missing something.

Then Yuuri looked up at him with a wobbly lip and tears in his lashes.

“Don’t you want to start a family with me?” Yuuri asked, with heartbreaking eyes that Viktor knew was not an act.

“Of course, of course, _Yuuri,_ ” Viktor cooed, scrambling across their bed to wrap his husband up in his arms. “ _This_ is our family. I love our family.”

“I know Yurio is like a son to you,” Yuuri said with a sniffle and a shudder. “I see you with him and I love it, I love how much you love him. But I want that, too. I want to be a dad, a _real_ one.” Viktor pressed a kiss to his forehead, hoping he never, ever said that to Yurio. He rubbed his hands up and down his arms.

“Okay, I’m sorry, I’m sorry. I didn’t know you felt that way.” He squeezed the back of his partner’s neck. “What brought this on?” Viktor asked softly after Yuuri’s breaths had returned to normal, deep, full ones.

“Mari is pregnant,” Yuuri said, forehead pressed against his neck, the arch of one of his feet spooned into the sole of Viktor’s. “She doesn’t want it, but she says she’ll have it, if we want it.”

“Really?” Viktor breathed. This was so close to a scenario the two of them had discussed, asking Mari to carry for them. “When did she tell you?”

“Today. It’s all I’ve been able to think about. I want it so bad, Vitya,” Yuuri whispered against him.

“Do we know who the father is?”

“Isao,” Yuuri said, pulling back enough to look at Viktor. “He says he’s fine with what ever she wants. He’s nice, handsome and healthy. He’s not a genius, but he’s a kind person. And Mari’s smart enough for both of them. It’s just like we talked about.”

“It is,” Viktor mused, absently petting over Yuuri’s soft skin as his mind raced. It was close to ideal. They had discussed it before. And while Viktor had been leaning towards adopting a slightly older child, the prospect of having a little baby around, with Yuuri’s eyes nonetheless, would be like a dream.

“Yurio wouldn’t have to leave, not at first. We’ve got nine months until it’s born, and then we’ll probably go stay with Mari for at least a few weeks in Japan to be there for the birth. And when we bring it home, the baby could stay in here with us. By the time it’s old enough to need its own room, Yurio and Otabek would definitely be out on their own. They’re basically adults, they won’t want to be here forever. But if they bond with the baby, they’ll have even more reason to visit, so they won’t move too far away.” Yuuri looked achingly convincing, with his sweet eyes and hopeful voice, clearly having thought through everything before bringing it up to him.

“We could really do it,” Viktor said, a smile beginning to creep over his face as his heart raced. Yuuri answered it with one of his own, clutching at his hands tightly.

“We could really do it,” he affirmed, beaming at him.

“Let’s have a baby!” Viktor exclaimed, grabbing his partner’s face and kissing his smile, tasting his laughter.

“We’re having a baby,” Yuuri breathed against his face like he couldn’t believe it was true. Viktor kissed him until his laughter stopped, hands gripping him desperately until he could only gasp in happy disbelief.

 

They told Yurio the next day.

“We’re having a baby,” Viktor said with a bright grin, apropos to nothing as they ate breakfast.

“Excuse me?” Yurio asked, coughing on his eggs. Otabek’s eyes went very wide as he looked between Viktor and Yurio, as if worried about his reaction. Viktor was, too, frankly.

“Mari is pregnant, and we’re getting the baby,” Viktor said, hoping if he kept his smile bright enough, Yurio would stop scowling.

“Why?” he asked incredulously.

“We want to start a family,” Yuuri said, kindly, but Viktor saw Yurio’s eyes flicker with anger and knew in an instant that they should’ve rehearsed this better.

“What Yuuri means,” Viktor rushed to say, grabbing Yuuri’s hand and squeezing it warningly, “is that we’re ready to expand our family.”

“We want to be parents,” Yuuri said, fidgeting and shifting nervously, not catching Viktor’s significant looks. “We love you, Yurio, and you’re welcome to stay, but we want to have a child of our own. To start our own, real family.”

Viktor gave Yuuri’s hand a brutal squeeze, but it was too late. Yurio was already shoving away from the kitchen table and storming out. He didn’t even grab his phone. They heard the front door slam before Otabek could even put his fork down.

“That was…,” Yuuri began, eyes wide as he realized his mistake.

“Poorly handled,” Otabek answered for them. He was frowning fiercely at them, looking like he was terribly disappointed in them both. “Congratulations on your _new family_ ,” he said with a touch of bitterness as he stood. “But for the record, I think Yuri would make a great older brother.”

“Did he grab his coat?” Yuuri asked, wringing his hands. “It’s snowing.” He and Viktor followed Otabek to the front door, and saw Yurio’s big, fluffy coat still hanging on its hook. Otabek shrugged his shoulders like he wasn’t surprised.

“I'll find him.” Otabek kept his glower as he pulled on his own coat, sliding Yuri’s phone into the pocket and grabbing the leopard print coat from the hook. Viktor’s throat clenched tightly, his heart aching. 

“Will you bring him home?” Viktor asked, clutching his phone tightly, wishing it was as easy as just calling his son. But Otabek had his phone, and he didn’t know when it would be back in familiar hands.

“He won’t want to,” Otabek said with another infuriating shrug. “We’ll probably head to Nikolai’s or Yakov’s for a couple days.” He left before Viktor could protest, slamming the door shut with enough force that he knew Otabek’s feelings were hurt, too.

Yuuri placed a hand on his back as he stared at the door, and he hated himself a little more when he shrugged it off.

“Viktor, I’m sorry,” Yuuri said. And Viktor knew it was true, and that he hadn’t meant it like that, and that he probably couldn’t believe he hurt Yurio like that. But.

“You made him feel like we’re not a family,” Viktor said quietly. “Just like he said in that interview so long ago. Like I’m getting rid of him to start a new one.” He looked at his husband beseechingly. “After I worked so hard to make him trust me again, to make up for leaving him when he was younger. He _finally_ trusted me again. He _loved_ me. And now he thinks that we don’t even consider him part of our family.”

“I know, Viktor, I’m so sorry. I was nervous, so nervous, I just said it wrong,” Yuuri said, wincing, wrapping his arms around himself.

“He doesn’t have anyone else, Yuuri,” Viktor stressed. “He has Nikolai, but he’s old, and he has Otabek but they’re still young. Between us and Yakov, we’re the closest thing to parents he has. I don’t want to lose him.” Viktor let out an ugly laugh into the suddenly empty-feeling apartment. “I even let his boyfriend move in with us! Regular dads don’t do that? I was a _cool dad_.”

“We’ll get him back, don’t worry,” Yuuri said, even though it was his hands that were shaking the worst, his heart that was hammering anxiously in his chest. Viktor didn’t pull away next time he reached for him. “I’ll make it better,” Yuuri promised, and Viktor knew he would try. That doesn’t mean it would work. “We can move, get a bigger place, so we can all stay together.”

“I don’t want to lose this,” Viktor confessed, his greatest fear taking up too much space in their too quiet apartment. “I love this family so much. I don’t want to lose it.”

 

 

They didn't see them for three days, until they turned up at the rink. Yurio was excellent at ignoring people even when he wasn’t nursing hurt feelings, and he skated circles around Yuuri, trying to stay away from him, lashing out in a brutal sit spin when he got to close, always facing conflict blades first. Viktor probably could’ve cornered him, or kidnapped him, or something, if Yakov didn’t take his side.

Not that there were sides, because it was all a big misunderstanding, and all Viktor wanted to do was _make it better_. But Yurio had apparently told Yakov what they’d said. Or, more likely, Otabek told Yakov what they’d said while Yurio sulked on the couch. When Yurio had brushed him off the first day at the rink, Yakov had drawn him aside, a tight grip around his upper arm like he was still a junior trying his quads too early.

“You and that husband of yours need to give Yura some time,” he growled. “You did wrong by him, Vitya. He is tough only when he knows he needs to be. You let him get soft and he gets soft. Then it’s your job to keep him safe.” Yakov frowned at him. “You didn’t. You let your husband break his heart.”

“I just need to talk to him, Yakov, please,” Viktor pleaded, pulling on the old man’s arms like he did when he was young.

“Give him a few days, he’ll be home with you soon,” Yakov said, brushing him off.

“You really think so?” Viktor asked, chasing after him when he made for his office.

“Not for you, for that boyfriend of his,” Yakov grunted over his shoulder.

“Otabek?” Viktor asked, surprised the older boy would be the one lobbying for their return.

“You’re crazy for letting those two live together in your home,” Yakov scolded. “They’re children! I made Yuri stay, but that hoodlum of his had to find his own couch to sleep on. Yuri will come home to you just so he can see that boy again, I know it. I try to help him, but does he listen to me? No, just like you never did.” Yakov kept droning on, complaining in that grumbly old man way that he does, but Viktor stopped listening.

He rushed to the boards, searching the rink for Otabek or Yurio. He saw Yuuri talking to Mila on the other side of the ice, Yuuri looking anxious and Mila looking very uncomfortable. He started towards them, keeping his head turning as he went looking for that brown shock of hair or tattooed arms. He spotted Otabek before he made it to his partner, leaning against a vending machine, headphones clamped tight over his ears.

“Otabek!” he called, racing towards him. Of course, he didn’t hear him, but he must’ve caught sight of his flailing arms and silver hair as he got closer. He looked up, pulled his headphones down around his neck and hunched further into his large hoodie.

“Mr. Nikiforov,” he said coolly, professionally polite like he hadn’t been to Viktor in months.

“Please, just tell me you're safe,” Viktor said in a rush, grabbing onto his shoulders and ducking his head to look into his eyes. He had dark circles like he hadn’t slept well. Otabek blinked at him, as if surprised.

“Excuse me?” he asked, seemingly baffled by Viktor’s concern.

“I understand Yurio is upset,” he said urgently. “I understand that _you_ are upset, and hurt, and I don’t blame you. I’m so sorry for the way it sounded, and I want to make it up to both of you. But that won’t matter if you’re not safe,” he stressed. “I know you need your time to decompress, but if you don’t have a safe place to stay, promise me you will come home.” Otabek looked at him, expressionless, and Viktor was moments away from shaking him. “Please,” he begged, gripping his shoulders tightly. “Just tell me you’re safe.”

Otabek shrugged him off. He stepped around him, out of his reach, shoulders squared and chin high.

“I’ve been on my own training in foreign countries with no family since I was twelve,” he said, eyes cold, face devoid of emotion. “I’m used to it.” He turned to walk away.

“Otabek,” Viktor called, and he stopped but didn’t turn around. “You have family here.”

He stood still for another moment, before he pulled his headphones up over his ears and walked away.

That night he and Yuuri laid in bed together, staring at the ceiling.

“If this is what fighting with your kids is like, I don’t know if I want another,” Viktor admitted. It was supposed to be a joke, a light taste of humor when everything in their house felt so sad. But it turned sour on his tongue with the weight of all the truth packed into it, and when Yuuri cooed and pulled him under his arm, Viktor couldn’t help but let a few tears slip free.

It was four days of coming home to an increasingly depressed and lonely poodle before the boys were finally back.

Viktor and Yuuri had just come home from a grocery trip, when they noticed the extra coats in the hall and the shoes kicked off on the floor.

“Yurio!” Viktor screeched. He tried to drop the bags in his hands, before remembering that he’d put his arms through the loops, so Yurio poked his head out of his bedroom in just enough time to see Viktor frantically clawing at the twisted plastic as he tried to break his way free. He laughed and it sounded like music.

Viktor shook enough of them off that he could sprint across the apartment and grab his friend in a hug before he could think twice about slamming the bedroom door in his face. He scooped the narrow blond up in his arms and swung him around, apologizing when he banged his ankle into the doorframe. Yurio shoved him off, more gently than he had to, and Viktor grabbed Otabek next, squeezing him until he wheezed.

“I’m so glad you’re home,” he cheered, Makkachin getting in on the excitement and bouncing around at their feet, licking Otabek’s face and Yurio’s hands, and chewing at the plastic still trailing off of Viktor’s limbs.

“Calm down, old man, you’ll sprain something,” Yurio groused, and Viktor couldn’t help beaming at him. He reached for his cheek and to Viktor’s upmost surprise and happiness, Yurio allowed it, allowing his cheek to be pinched and petted.

“Will you stay?” he asked, and he nearly cried when Yurio nodded, Otabek doing the same with a slight smile on his face. “Oh thank God,” Viktor breathed, gathering them up in a hug that Otabek stood stiffly in but didn’t try to escape, and Yurio melted into for three seconds before trying to squirm away. “Boys, I am so sorry for what happened,” Viktor said, leaving a hand on each of their shoulders. “I never want you to ever feel like you’re not a part of my family.” He felt incredibly honored when Yurio let him brush his hair behind his ear. “Yura, you were my family before I even knew what that meant,” he said honestly, his voice quiet with the weight of his truth. “And Otabek,” he said, cupping the back of his neck and knowing the shape of the ink under his palm by memory, “you’re not just Yurio’s now, you’re ours, too. Not just because you love him, but because you are a marvelous and brave young man and we are better for having you.” Otabek looked away, face just as bare as ever but with a watery shine to his eyes.

“God, Viktor, you can stop,” Yurio said, rolling his eyes dramatically, though Viktor heard a wobble in his voice. “You’re embarrassing yourself.”

“That’s okay,” Viktor said, his grin too wide. “I’d rather I say too much of what I mean than not enough.”

“Shut up,” Yurio said, smirking at him, before wiggling out from under his hand and sitting down at the edge of his bed. “Besides,” he said with false lightness. “I was never mad at you.”

“You weren’t?” Viktor asked disbelievingly, grabbing Yurio’s desk chair and rolling it close enough to sit on across from the young boy.

“No,” Yurio said, as if obvious. “I, like, know you love me, or whatever,” he said flippantly, and Viktor almost broke out into tears at hearing it. Yurio noticed and rolled his eyes, a happy blush on his cheeks. “Get a hold of yourself, old man,” he grumbled, reaching a long leg out to nudge at Viktor’s chair, pushing him until he started to spin. Viktor flattened his foot to the floor to resist the turn. “I just,” Yurio began, before breaking off into a dramatic sigh, flopping backwards onto his bed.

Otabek rolled his eyes and clambered up behind him, dragging Yurio’s boneless body back up to seated, settling himself behind him so he was tucked against his chest. Viktor watched, amused, and waiting until Otabek nudged Yurio to continue. The blond blew a strand of hair out of his face before turning to Viktor with a self-conscious frown.

“I know that _we_ are family, or whatever,” he said, casually gesturing between the two of them. “But, I guess, I just thought Katsu thought the same thing.” Viktor felt his heart break in his chest at the false indifference evident in the way the boy crossed his arms over his chest and avoided eye contact. “I mean, it’s whatever, maybe we weren’t ever even that close,” he said flippantly, shrinking himself back into his boyfriend’s chest. “I guess you don’t get to be a poisonous cunt your whole life and expect people to love you.” His voice cracked and a tear slipped out onto his flushing cheek.

“Oh, god, Yura, no,” Viktor gushed, spilling out of his chair to hug the snuffling blond. Otabek curled forward around him and Viktor lunged at him from the front, and in seconds Yurio was smushed in the middle of the tightest hug he’d ever been part of. “Yura, don’t you ever say that,” Viktor murmured into his hair. “We love you so much. Yuuri does, too, I promise, sweetie, I promise.”

“It doesn’t matter,” Yurio grumbled, though he made no effort to push him away.

“It does matter,” he insisted, pulling away enough to thumb over his cheek. Yurio batted his hand away, embarrassed. “It matters that you think that. You should never think that.”

“It’s whatever,” Yurio insisted, pushing Viktor away with his foot against his chest and turning sideways to bury his face into Otabek’s neck. “I was sad, I took a couple days, and I’m over it. I don’t care if the piggy doesn’t like me. I don’t care if you want to have a little piglet. I don’t care.” A curtain of hair had fallen over his flushed face. He peeked out just a bit as Viktor said back defeatedly on his heels. “As long as we’re good,” Yurio finished.

“Yura,” Viktor breathed, a hole in his stomach.

“As long as we’re good, I don’t care about anything else,” Yurio insisted. Viktor knew it was a lie, but he also knew the young boy was trying to mean it with every part of him.

“We’re always going to be good,” Viktor said, grabbing Yurio’s ankle and squeezing. “We’re family, I love you, you’ve always got me.” Yurio nodded, wiping his nose. “But,” Viktor continued. “Yuuri loves you, too, whether you know so or not. And I’m going to make sure you know it.”

He stood with a flourish, dropping a kiss on Yurio’s forehead, and then one on Otabek’s just for fun. He chuckled at their stunned expressions and swept out to find his husband.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fitting that I would end this fic on Thanksgiving.

Sharing a home with Yurio meant sharing everything with Yurio. And in the next few days that he was home, Viktor noticed Yuuri’s things steadily disappearing.

“He stole my favorite mug,” Yuuri said under his breath as they moved around the kitchen together, making breakfast.

“He didn’t _steal_ it, he’s _using_ it.”

“That’s basically the same,” Yuuri huffed. “He knows it’s my favorite and he’s using it so that I can’t.”

“Have you apologized to him yet?” Viktor asked, an eyebrow saucily cocked, because he knew he hadn’t.

“Every time I try to talk to him he shuts me down. He literally tied his hood shut around his face yesterday,” Yuuri whisper-screamed exasperatedly. “He was prepared to suffocate to death if it meant not having to talk to me.”

“You really hurt his feelings,” Viktor said, before immediately feeling guilty about the way it made his husband’s face fall.

“I know,” he said miserably, leaning against the counter and putting his face in his hands.

“I know you know,” Viktor said, stepping close to wrap him in a hug. “I’ll stop saying it like that, I know you know. I’m not trying to make you feel like the bad guy. I just want us all to be happy again.”

“Yeah,” Yuuri sniffed against his shoulder. “Yeah, I want that, too.”

“Good,” Viktor said, kissing his forehead. “Now, go take your Prozac and then in thirty minutes try talking to Yurio again.”

 

Like a tetchy cat, Yurio was nearly impossible to corner. He was prickly and fast. And very hard to sneak up on. When Yuuri walked into a room, Yurio walked out. When Yuuri opened his mouth, Yurio started talking. When Yuuri tried to skate near him, Yurio would whip into a dangerous sit spin.

Yuuri tried to trap him by luring him into the car and locking the doors before Viktor and Otabek could get in, but Yurio put his headphones on and played his music so loudly that Yuuri had to abort the mission for fear of damaging the boy’s hearing. Next he tried to corner Yurio when he and Otabek were together in the locker room at the rink, figuring that he owed the older boy an apology as well. He’d barely opened his mouth before Yurio was slamming Otabek into the lockers and kissing him so furiously and with so much noise that Yuuri literally _ran_ away, hobbling in his skate guards, probably looking exactly as awkward as he felt.

Viktor would’ve found it hilarious, if his husband and child weren’t so clearly miserable. Yuuri kept feeling like a failure, and Yurio kept his guard up and held his grudge high, as if to protect himself. Viktor didn’t want to gang up against the kid, and he didn’t want Yuuri to feel like he needed his help.

How-the-fuck-ever, his family was a mess and if there was one thing Viktor was great at, it was butting his head in somewhere it didn’t belong.

So he set about trying to figure out how to catch an angry cat. Makkachin was no help, because she was a sweet girl who came whenever you called and just wanted to lick your face and make you happy. Yurio was the opposite. So Viktor studied Potya.

Potya had never particularly liked him, but now that he was the first one awake in the mornings, he was the one that fed him, and the kitty was coming around. So one morning, when Viktor was putting his food dish down, he decided he would try out all of his corralling strategies on Potya before implementing them on Yurio.

Leaving a trail of food into a secluded space was reasonably effective, but the more remote the location from the food bowl, the more alert the cat was, making capture difficult. Food to lure him, but not truly distract him. He could not be snuck up on, he could not be cajoled with soft words or pets. Catnip only made him more riled up and hard to catch, and he didn’t exactly know how he could ethically apply it to Yurio without messing with his competition drug screenings.

Viktor once tried to scoop Potya up while he was sleeping and was immediately clawed in the face. He’d shrieked, clung the cat back onto the couch and fled the apartment. Driving erratically to the emergency room was apparently considered an “over-reaction” and he received absolutely no treatment for his grievous wounds and not even Yuuri felt sorry for him.

And then Viktor found it. The secret that would lead, eventually, to a calm and controlled cat. Even if he was a little put-off, Viktor was insulated and safe from his claws and teeth.

All he needed to do was sneak up on Yuri while he was asleep, toss a blanket on top of him and pin down all the edges. He read online that the lack of visual cues would make him go still and peaceful. Maybe that was crocodiles? He also read that if you flip him on his back he will be frozen in a state of tonic immobility. Was that sharks? Either way, Yurio was vicious and liked to bite; so clearly what would work for cats, crocodiles, and sharks would work for Yurio.

He waited for Otabek to be out of the apartment, so Yurio wouldn’t have any allies in order to stage an escape. He also didn’t tell Yuuri what the plan was, just made sure he was nearby. He’d planned this for a very long time, carefully staking out Yurio’s favorite chair. One of the largest quilts in the house was stuffed under the armchair, with two corners pinned under the front feet of the chair. Yurio came home from a purposefully tiring day of practice and Viktor innocently put on an episode of Chill with Bob Ross to play soothingly in the background and made him a cup of Chamomile tea. And then he left, retreating to the kitchen to make comforting food-related sounds and smells.

In fifteen minutes, Yurio was passed out with his knees tucked up under his chin, blond hair falling over his face and shifting with his light snores. Moving with the silence and grace of a shadow, and manfully resisting from humming his own theme music, Viktor crawled into the living room and to the front of the chair. He carefully unraveled the blanket from underneath the chair and made sure the two corners will still tucked in. Then, moving with the upmost care and silence, Vikto held one corner up and walked around the back of the chair, partially encasing the sleeping teen. Holding his breath, he leaned over the back and over the boy to grab the other corner.

Yurio stirred, perhaps sensing the change in light or hearing the rustle of fabric, and Viktor decided it was now or never.

With a firm grip on the corners of the blanket, Viktor hit the floor behind the chair, pinning them to the ground and trapping the boy inside. Yuri awoke with a terrifying screech at feeling the blanket seal around him, and he screamed so loudly that Yuuri came running in from the bedroom.

“What’s going on?” Yuuri asked at the same time Yurio screeched another ear-piercing “What the fuck?!”

“I’ve got him, Yuuri!” Viktor shouted proudly. Makkachin was jumping around, barking excitedly.

“Why?!” Yuuri asked throwing his arms in the air.

“You two need to talk!” Viktor shouted, having to fight to keep Yurio’s thrashing body under control.

“Let me go, you psycho old man!” Yurio shouted, trying to grab onto the quilt but it was stretched too tightly.

“Viktor, let him go,” Yuuri said, trying to pull the trap away from Viktor’s clenched fists.

“Not until you make up,” Viktor wailed. “I hate that you two are fighting! It’s terrible!” Yurio struggled harder. “I’m not letting go until you let Yuuri apologize and you accept it. I’m not living another day with my two favorite people not talking!”

“Viktor, you’re going to suffocate him!” Yuuri yelped, trying to pull at Viktor’s individual fingers.

“No, covering his eyes will calm him down!” Viktor assured him.

“He’s not a fucking falcon, Viktor, let him go!”

With a final, inhuman shriek, Yurio burst free. Blond hair covered his red face and he was puffing with anger as he turned to snarl at Viktor.

But he was a desperate man, living on the edge of sanity. He could not take another day of tension, pointed silences and aggressive barbs, no. He was healing this rift in his family _today_.

Launching himself at Yurio, he tackled him to the ground and tangled them both in the blanket. He wasn’t a wild cat anymore, he was a velociraptor and Viktor was ready to trade his life if it meant he finally found peace. He wrapped his arms and legs around the screaming teenager until he was completely immobilized. Makkachin was frantically licking over their faces and slobbering Yurio’s hair.

“Let. Me. Go,” Yurio puffed, straining with all his might against Viktor’s grip. He was already out of breath and he didn’t know how much longer he could hold on. He didn’t know when Yurio had gotten stronger than him, but it was abundantly clear that his careful plan was backfiring.

“What is wrong with you?” Yuuri despaired, pulling at Viktor’s arms and legs to help unravel the boy. Yurio shot and arm out at him, breathlessly pleading for him to help pull him free. Yuuri grabbed onto his arm with both hands and heaved, planting one foot against Viktor’s hip to help separate them. With a mighty cry from all involved, Yuuri drug Yurio free, collapsing onto his back, the sweaty teen splayed over his chest and rapidly scrambling away from Viktor’s flailing arms.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” Yurio screeched, crawling to sit behind Yuuri, hiding behind his body like a shield.

“You two are what’s wrong with me!” Viktor answered, scraping his hair out of his face with uncharacteristic awkwardness. “You two, fighting, and not talking. It’s driving me crazy!”

“You were already crazy,” Yurio bit back.

“You can’t trap your kid under a blanket just because he’s mad,” Yuuri said, dragging his hands over his face like he couldn’t even look at his husband.

“It worked on Potya! I read about it online!”

“He’s a _human child_ ,” Yuuri exclaimed, throwing his arms in the air. “You can’t force him to love me, Viktor!” Yuuri’s face was red and his eyes were shining. “He didn’t do anything wrong. It’s my fault, and you can’t punish him for it just because you’re upset.”

The family room was quiet but for the heaving of their chests and the sniffles from Yuuri’s nose. Viktor drug himself up to seated and reached out to brush a tear away from his husband’s cheek.

“I just want us to be happy again,” he said, quietly, contritely. He looked past his husband to catch Yurio’s eye. He was still red-faced, and his brow was creased but it looked a little more like regret instead of fury. Makkachin was whining and trying to push her head until Yurio’s crossed arms.

“Fine,” Yurio said, crossing his legs and opening his arms to the squirming dog. “If it means you don’t ever _attack_ me again, I’ll let the pig apologize to me.” Yuuri immediately turned around, wiping his face, knowing Yurio didn’t appreciate tears.

“I’m very sorry, Yura,” he said, reaching over to pet over Makkachin’s back, just a few inches away from the teenagers own hands. “I didn’t mean what I said, I didn’t mean that we weren’t already a family, or that we needed anything else to make us a real family. I was very nervous about telling you about the baby because I didn’t want to lose you and Otabek, and I messed it all up.” Yuuri snuffled again, wiping his face with his free hand, and Viktor scrambled up behind him, wrapping around his husband and squeezing him to offer support. “I’m sorry you felt like you couldn’t stay in your own home, and I’m sorry you ever felt like I don’t love you.”

“Whatever,” Yurio said, not meeting his eye and shrugging his shoulders. “You’re not my dad, I don’t care.”

“I’m not your dad,” Yuuri insisted, his voice sounding clearer. Viktor squeezed him warningly but he just patted his arms. “I mean it. Yurio, I don’t feel like your father. I love you, you’re family, but that doesn’t mean you’re like a son to me.”

“Yuuri, no,” Viktor said, reaching up to cover his mouth.

“No, I mean it, Viktor,” Yuuri insisted, wiggling out of his hold and putting a hand on Yurio’s shoulder.

“You’re not my kid, Yura,” he said, ducking his head until Yurio looked up at him. “I know you’ve known Viktor for so long that he’s a little like a father to you, but to me, you’re my friend. You’re one of my best friends. Like a brother. Family. That doesn’t mean I love you any less, it doesn’t mean you’re not family to me. And it doesn’t mean that I don’t want you to be a brother to our baby.” Yurio scraped his hair out of his face, looking between Yuuri and Viktor with a frighteningly vulnerable look on his face. “You and Otabek are family, and I want you to be in our lives, and our baby’s life, but you’re almost an adult. And I respect you as an independent member of this family. You don’t need another dad. But I still love you.”

Yurio sniffed, and Makkachin stretched her neck up to lick at his face. He allowed it, petting over her head as he looked away from the pair of them. Viktor would swear that he hadn’t taken a breath in twenty minutes and that this conversation had aged him one hundred and twelve years. Finally, Yurio looked back at them.

“Yeah, okay,” he said quietly, shrugging with effected casualness. “That’s cool. I, uh, love you too, and whatever.” He blew a chunk of hair out of his face and looked away again. “And I guess I’m okay with the baby, you know, if you guys are excited about it.”

“You could help us name it,” Viktor said coaxingly, a wide smile stretching across his face.

“Scorpion,” Yurio answered immediately with a smirk.

“Never mind,” Viktor said quickly. “I take it back, you’ll be a terrible big brother.” Yurio just grinned meanly, before softening into a genuine smile when he looked back to Yuuri.

“Nah, I’ll be an awesome brother,” Yurio promised, his voice quiet and sincere. Yuuri squeezed his shoulder and tugged him into a brief hug. He didn’t let it linger, not wanting to ruin the moment, but Viktor saw the gentleness with which Yurio let himself be hugged. He dared to dart forward and press a kiss to the teen’s forehead, and then to his husband’s cheek when he pulled away, rubbing at his skin in disgust. Viktor just chuckled into his husband’s neck, overwhelmingly pleased to have the two of them at peace again.

Yuuri drug him back up to his feet and back into the kitchen to see what could be salvaged of their dinner. Yurio took Makkachin on a walk and when he returned, he had Otabek in tow. Apparently the older boy had been filled in, because when he stepped into the kitchen to wash his hands and help set the table, he gave Yuuri a tiny smile and a nod. And for Otabek, that was enough to say that they were good. Yuuri nodded back, trying to control his smile, and threw a noodle up for the boy to catch in his mouth. He did, nodding as he chewed, humming in approval.

Dinner that night was lovely, the four of them sitting around and chatting easily for the first time in two weeks. Yurio mocked him for the goofy smile on his face, but Viktor couldn’t help it. This was everything he’d ever wanted. And knowing there was a little baby on the way, and that Yurio wanted to be a part of its life, and that he and his husband were _family_. With a dopey smile, Viktor reached up to run his fingers through his partner’s hair, thumbing over his cheek until he paused his conversation and turned to look at him questioningly. Viktor leaned over and kissed hi gently, unable to resist the happiness bubbling inside him.

Yurio groaned and told them to stop being disgusting, but Viktor couldn’t help but notice that he and Otabek were holding hands under the table. He didn’t say anything. He didn’t have to. Sometimes, with family, you just know.

 

Three years later, things were much the same.

Yurio and Otabek had moved into their own apartment a few buildings away, and the bedroom they used to stay in was now painted in soft greens and covered in zebras. Yuuri had retired from skating, coaching full time now. Nothing made Viktor happier than arriving at the rink, daughter on his hip, to see Yuuri choreographing with Otabek, Yurio recording from the boards.

“Hey, kid!” Yurio grinned when he saw them, jogging over on his guards to scoop the giggling child out of his arms. “How’s my biggest fan?”

“Yuro!!” she shouted clapping her pudgy hands over his cheeks excitedly. “Skate, skate!” she said and Yurio was quick to kick off his guards and plop the child onto his shoulders, holding on tightly as he stepped out onto the ice. Slow figure eights brought the pair of them close to the pair still hard at work, but Viktor could tell that Yuuri was getting more and more distracted, spending more time watching his daughter yank on Yurio’s hair than he did watching Otabek’s improving step sequence.

“That looks great, Beka,” Viktor shouted to him, waving an enthusiastic thumbs-up. Otabek waved to him gratefully, flipping into a lazy salchow, and landing in a wide spread eagle, drifting his way slowly over to his boyfriend. Yurio looped back towards him, dropping a kiss on his cheek before dropping the child into his arms. Leaving the three of them on the ice, Yurio skated over to Viktor, leaning against the boards next to him. They watched the three of them on the ice, Otabek holding the squealing toddler to his chest while skating backwards away from Yuuri, making him chase them.

“Hey,” Yurio said after a few quiet moments, still watching their family on the ice.

“Yeah?” Viktor asked, huffing a laugh when Yuuri pretended to fall on the ice to earn a piercing laugh from his daughter.

“I’m gonna ask Otabek to marry me.”

Viktor whipped his head around so quickly that his neck popped and his long hair flopped into his face.

“Really?” he breathed, shock written over his face. Yurio looked over to him, his lip pulled between his teeth and his hands fidgeting together.

“Is it a bad idea?” he asked, running his hands back through his hair. “Do you think he’ll say yes?”

“Yura, of course!” Viktor shouted, too loudly to the echoing rink. He wrapped his arms around his son, pulling him up and over the boards, until Yurio was sitting on top of them, being crushed breathless against Viktor’s chest. “Of course he’ll say yes,” Viktor whispered into his ear. “It’s a brilliant idea!” Yurio actually hugged him back, arms coming up around his back and holding him tightly.

“I just love him so much,” he confessed, letting himself be drug further into his friend, almost entirely over the wall.

“I’m so happy for you,” Viktor squealed, finally overstepping his hugging privileges as Yurio began squirming away. Dropping his feet down, the younger man righted himself on the ice and straightened out his shirt.

“Good,” he said, brushing back his hair. “I just wanted to let you know, you know? Because it’s a big deal. And I wanted you to be happy about it.”

Viktor sighed, looking out onto the ice and seeing a family he never would have imagined having.

“Yura, I couldn’t possibly be happier.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for sticking around.

**Author's Note:**

> Kudos and comments make the world go round, so plz leave some.
> 
> Feel free to follow me on [ tumblr ](https://definitelynotadulting.tumblr.com/)


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